


And a Copy for Me

by SilverBlue



Series: States and Kingdom [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Technically Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlue/pseuds/SilverBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well sure, leave if you want. Course, if I was in the company of someone I found ‘hot’, I can think of a few other things I might wanna do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot how hard it is to write porn :x

MI6 worked miracles on Matt’s confidence. Gone were the days of restraining his tongue around demented psychopathic brutes (gone were the days of having to even worry about demented psychopathic brutes, at least not at such proximity), and he had all the freedom to complain about missions poorly executed, criticise incompetent agents and boast his intellectual prowess to all serving Queen and country, whether or not they listened. There was the small matter of his audience being international spies trained to kill, but he felt secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t lapse from their professionalism to dispatch someone who was essentially their only chance of survival.

When Matt had been in MI6 long enough and took his first paid leave, he returned to Steelport to attend a certain celebratory party, and he was currently at said party, standing in the shadows, gripping an empty glass while his eyes darted from person to person.

He thought that by leaving for England he had left the shadow of his sixteen-year-old self behind but he never once thought that it would be waiting to latch onto him as soon as he stepped foot onto this familiar land. All that confidence was now lost under timidity and clouded by fear.

It wasn’t the noise; he always played music at full volume inside his personal cyberspace or when working alone in the office. It wasn’t the crowd; he dealt with emergencies and high-pressure situations where everyone whisked around his workspace as he hacked into systems that could decide the fate of an agent, sometimes the entire population. But the cocktail of music and people and memories made him feel anxious, hypersensitive, claustrophobic—

He slinked along the confinement of the walls, a newbie bumping into every obstacle in the race, only this wasn’t a game and the obstacles threw back glares that judged and curses to watch his step. He slipped into the safe point of a cubicle in the bathroom, locking the door and stumbling backwards into the corner, gulping down air. Maybe he hadn’t left his old self behind. Maybe it had always been buried under the brave façade, gradually excavated as each beat, each conversation chipped away at its false encasing.

He looked down at his clothes. If he was being honest, he shouldn’t have worn something that screamed Matt Miller, leader of the Deckers. The large Deckers symbol at the back had been removed (he didn’t have that much of a death wish) but the neon trims and tie remained, purple instead of blue to match the colour code. Maybe it was the sea of purple that was making him twitchy and unsettled.

A door slammed open.

“I’m tellin’ you, I _know_ what I saw.”

He recognised that self-assured, argumentative voice from somewhere, scanning his memory and finding a match.

 _Oh shit._ He pressed further into the corner as though that would cushion him from his predicament. Wherever there was a high-pitched squall—

“When you said ‘we need to talk in private’, public restroom’s not the first place that comes to mind.”

And _there_ was that impatient growl the whole world now recognised.

“By all means, feel free to talk while Kinzie’s in your room makin’ out with some computer chick she picked up, or while we’re at it, in any other of the occupied rooms.”

“That’s … kinda hot.”

There was a pause where Matt imagined Pierce rolling his eyes.

“I’m tellin’ you, movement. Oleg said he noticed more of them in the streets and Kinzie’s tracking spikes of activity.”

“When there’s actual trouble, we’ll deal with it.”

“Presidency’s messin’ with your head,” Pierce lowered his voice to a cautious concern. “Or _maybe_ , you’re gettin’ soft up here to compensate for what’s goin’ on down there.”

Silence.

“We’re _going_ to _wait_.”

A snort. “Never used to wait to take action—”

“—Fuck you Pierce, I know what I’m doing.”

“Sure you do, though I’m pretty sure it’s not me you wanna be fuckin’.”

Matt jumped at the door slamming again, loud conversation drowning theirs as several men barged in. He stepped forward to press his ear against the cool plastic of the door, wondering if he would be able to make out snippets of conversation but they were talking too quietly or had left. He waited until the bathroom returned to the quiet he walked into, and then peered round the door to check for signs of life.

Coming here had been a mistake. Bracing himself with a deep breath, he stepped back out into the noise, searching for an escape. Still keeping close to the wall, he headed towards the exit, doing a much better job of weaving between people when he had a clear objective.

“All clear here,” he heard an authoritative voice say and froze.

 _Am I ever going to get out of this bloody place,_ Matt thought as he backtracked, not wanting to be seen by Shaundi of all people. Surely she would put a bullet in his head even after their collaborations.

A tray flew towards his face – he ducked, hiding behind his arms. He opened one eye to find a waitress staring down at him, her scowl clearly indicating how she felt about his reaction. He carefully reached for a drink, the glass barely between his fingers before she snatched the tray back, shaking her head as she moved onto another guest.

_For Christ’s sake, calm down, have a drink, go round the back, get out. It’s not a highly secured firewall with hardly any means of escape. It’s fieldwork any bumbling agent can do._

He knocked the drink back, liquid dropping like stone and leaving a burning trail. He shuddered. It took ten seconds for his head to feel lighter and twenty before his vision started to blur. How many had he had now? Two? Four?

A heavy beat started to play, pounding in time with the gradual beat inside his skull and he stumbled into the wall, propping his body up on his shoulder.

“Bollocks, fucking … bollocks,” he hissed at himself, as he saw dark figures merge. Of course drinks would be spiked.

He managed another step before crumpling to the floor.

 

*

 

Each churn of nausea brought Matt closer to consciousness until his stomach could no longer hold back the current forcing its way up his throat and he turned, dropping from a short height to spill the contents of the evening onto the floor.

“I hope you’re gonna clean that up,” he heard a deep voice say in the distance. He coughed, spitting the bitterness out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The floor swayed and he closed his eyes.

“Sit up, you’re gonna choke.” He was hooked under his arms and lifted onto something soft. Sitting upright was hard work – far easier to let gravity pull him sideways onto the soft material now rubbing against his cheek.

He burst out laughing, regretted it instantly as his stomach jolted, but he couldn’t hold back the giggles as his voice echoed around him.

“Fuck me, not even half what I took.”

Matt cracked an eye open and noticed a tall purple figure which blurred and doubled. Tripled. He opened both eyes and squinted, attempting to count how many there were but the figure only seemed to multiply. He was sure he should recognise the man but his brain had yet to reboot properly.

The man crouched down to his level and locked into one figure where he could make out the finer details. Lavender eyes. Dark brown eyebrows and goatee. Wild purple hair.

Matt smiled at him.

_God you’re hot._

He crashed again.

 

*

 

On his third attempt at restarting (his second was being shocked out of unconsciousness by falling once more to the floor, and yet here he was, miraculously back on the couch) he finally started recollecting his memories, patching pieces into a somewhat coherent line of events, and he very slowly sat upright, all the while wincing at the pain in his head, his chest, his stomach, back to his head, until he was balancing himself precariously on the edge of the chair, afraid that he might collapse, or worse – the floor might start moving.

“You gonna throw up?”

His gaze followed the direction of the voice to a couch at the side, occupied with the Boss lying down and reading a book.

He swallowed and mentally scanned his body, concluding that his stomach felt steady enough to hold a conversation.

“No.” His voice was cracked and husky, unfamiliar to his ears. “What happened?”

“You took one swig of Zimos’ blend and knocked yourself out.”

Matt leaned forward ever so slowly to peer down at the floor, the area around his feet looking much cleaner than the rest. He shivered; the sudden chill made him wonder where his jacket and tie had gone.

“Mind filling me in on why you’re here? Could’ve given us a heads up if you were gonna grace us with your presence.”

His mind still hadn’t fully caught up with the whole night’s events.

“I heard you were throwing a party.” It was the only truth he could currently remember.

“I heard Decker activity.”

A small frown started to creep between his eyebrows, wondering why that sounded worse than it should.

“Just … give me a minute, all right?”

The Boss was immediately onto him, casting a shadow. “How about a second?” Matt pressed himself on the back of the chair, fear gripping him too tightly to even think about his condition. Had he not been so afraid, he would have found the sight of the Boss with a book in one hand and a gun clenched in the other highly amusing. “You think I’m _not_ going to be suspicious at you suddenly showing your face around here unannounced?”

“My bad, mate.” Flashback of days he thought were long gone overlapped the present. A fresh wave of nausea came over him and he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the powerful figure looming over him.

When he opened his eyes, the Boss was back in his previous position, book in hand and gun no longer in sight.

“It’s not what you think.” He waited to see if the Boss would turn to him but there was no reaction. “I-I heard you were having a celebration and … I wanted to see how you were and to personally congratulate you on your accomplishment. The Deckers, they’re a smart bunch – I mean, it’s only natural, they _were_ working for me. Some found out about my return and wanted a reunion.” He paused again, gauging the Boss’ expression. “It had absolutely nothing to do with reforming or taking over. Purely nostalgic reasons.”

He held his breath and waited. It was in the silence that he realised the music had disappeared and the room was lit by sunlight, the sky outside a clean azure, not a brush of cloud in sight. Exactly how long had he been unconscious?

“Yeah … doesn’t explain why you’re here.” The Boss’ tone was even, not the dangerous sort that signals a storm, but a grounding that he could rely on.

“But I told you—”

“I heard you. See,” the Boss swung his legs onto the floor. He leant forward and set the book onto the table, deliberately drawing out the pause. “I know what you’re like. Hiding behind your screens and your Internet, you don’t do anything personally unless someone’s pointing a gun at your head or it’s to your advantage. So when you skip all the emails and calls and hacking, and I see you on the floor in the penthouse, I’m gonna wonder, ‘Why the fuck would Matt Miller be here?’”

“Reassuring to know it was my presence and not my welfare that caught your attention,” Matt muttered.

“I’m calling you out on your bullshit, Matt. Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re here?”

Matt swallowed. He really needed to learn not to underestimate the Saints’ Boss and the recently appointed President of the United States.

He gave a weak sigh. “Fine – It was a forced holiday, and Asha threatened to confiscate all my laptops and set fire to all the data I own if I didn’t leave the country.”

His hopeful glance was met with scrutiny. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the complete truth and he was sure the Boss was debating the same thing.

He averted his gaze to the book on the table. For someone rumoured to have ordered stripper poles into his office, 19th century romantic literature was not the first association he would make with the Boss.

“Seriously?” Matt’s pulse lurched. “Out of all the places you could’ve gone, _this_ is where you choose?”

Matt’s muscles relaxed.

“As I mentioned, purely nostalgic reasons.”

All the talking must have roused the nausea again and he cast a worried look to the Boss. “Bathroom?” he just about managed to get out as he stood up quickly – too quickly. He didn’t even hear what the Boss had to say; blacked out by the time he hit the floor.

 

*

 

“At least you were out before you could make more mess,” Matt heard as he stirred awake. Time spent in the darkness had helped, even with the unpleasant acidic taste in his mouth. Groaning, he pushed himself upright. He was back on the couch _again_ and he tried not to dwell too much on the thought that the Boss had been picking him up and placing him there every time.

“Er … sorry. Thank you.”

“So it got me thinking,” – the Boss shot him an unreadable look as he stood up – “Kid like you, flying over to get their boss off their back. Getting drunk, getting high, getting sick all over my nice floor. Anything else left to do?”

Matt winced, unsure if it was due to the stark truth or soreness from the workout his stomach muscles received earlier. “I believe that sums up my adventures quite nicely.” He cleared his throat as the words grated the back of his throat. “I think I’ll spend the rest of my stay in my room, living off room service and trying not to make a fool of myself.” He pushed himself off the couch.

“Well sure, leave if you want. Course, if I was in the company of someone I found ‘hot’, I can think of a few other things I might wanna do.”

In his confused state of mind, he briefly wondered what the Boss was trying to get at when the word clicked into place.

_God you’re hot._

It took him a moment to recall him thinking that and realising—

“Did I, by any chance, say that out loud?”

The Boss threw him a cryptic grin in reply.

Matt closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose.

_All that time fantasising about meeting the one man you can’t stop thinking about and your first thought was ‘god you’re hot’? Are you a bloody teenager swooning over attractive sociopaths?_

Too busy mentally berating himself, he didn’t notice the Boss sidling over until he opened his eyes and found the man invading far too much of his personal space. Both were around the same height but he still felt like he was being towered and instinctively, he curled his shoulders into a slouch. He felt exposed without the protection of his upturned collar or firm leather, and so in his defence, he did the next best thing.

Matt stumbled back.

“Not that I don’t want to – obviously – completely flattered, especially after … everything, but …” he gestured to himself. “I’m probably not at my best right now.”

“Sure.” The Boss nodded to the door past his shoulder. “Get cleaned up.” It was an order, not a suggestion, the next move decided for the both of them.

“R-right. Yes.”

Nausea may have passed but Matt still moved carefully through to the bedroom, not daring to look back, and figured the single door on the far side of the room would lead to a shower. He walked in, noticing how much bigger it was than the hole he called his home.

He stripped off clammy clothes, nudging them into a pile with his foot, and then turned on the taps, waiting a few seconds before stepping into the shower. Water sprayed him at the perfect temperature. He breathed a sigh, letting the water run over his head for some time. Purple-black briefly tainted the water as he rubbed his face, and the night’s events ran smoothly with the helpful flow. Images of the night finally landed on the Boss’ expression just before his shower. Was it him or was there a hint of fondness?

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, although his cock twitched in defiance. He fumbled for the taps and turned the knob with furious speed, shuddering audibly at the sudden drop in temperature.

Matt didn’t know how long he spent in there, but when he was sure his body was under control, he stepped out, towelling himself dry and wrapping it around his waist. The pile of clothes looked unappealing but he didn’t want to walk out so exposed. Holding his breath, he opened the door.

He stopped short; mouth dry, brain short-circuiting.

“Shit, I can barely fit into the damn thing.”

The Boss checked himself out in the full-length mirror wearing Matt’s usual black attire trimmed with not-so-usual neon purple. He was even wearing the purple tie around his neck but the jacket was open, baring his firm body and tattoos.

Matt choked.

_Christ, is he trying to kill me? Death by semi-nudity, is that a thing now?_

He tried to form words but every time they reached his throat, they simply dissolved. Eventually his brain grasped something that could just about be meshed together in a sentence, all prompted by awkward flailing.

“But you’re … and … with no … ” Each word hitched higher and higher until it was almost a squeak and he clamped his mouth shut. Clearly his brain hadn’t regained full control of his vocal functions.

“Knew it’d grab your attention,” the Boss said, his mouth twitching into a grin. He stalked over and Matt had half a mind to stumble back into the bathroom and lock the door.

As if that it would do anything to protect him from a very determined Boss.

“Of course it would!”

“No,” the Boss said slowly, reading Matt’s mind and pulling the bathroom door shut. “Not what I meant.”

Matt shut his eyes at the Boss firmly palming his cock over the towel. He hadn’t realised his body had already betrayed him and arousal twisted nerves into knots low inside. Soft lips covered his own, the kiss languid – nice and slow and drawn out, one melting into another after another. Matt knew it would catch fire any moment now.

Anticipation he spent years building up seemed to be somewhat misleading; he expected the Boss to overpower his mouth with the same force he used to throw cars into people and—

When there was no sign of rough handling, Matt didn’t know what to do, his whole body tense as he reached towards the Boss but quickly changing his mind halfway.

He felt fingers entangle in his hair at the same time the Boss tugged his cock (which he swore made him _harder_ ) and then the hand snaked round to rest low on his back, fingers just ghosting over the curve of his arse.

“You done this before?”

Matt opened his eyes to shoot him a challenging look. “Does it matter?”

The Boss chuckled. “No. ‘Course, when I was your age …”

“I’m sure you’d already been sleeping with half of Zimos’ whores and had your own line of willing partners to obey your every whim,” Matt said, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t sure at what point his confidence had returned – perhaps with the prospect of sex, with the Boss of all people, which was both terrifying and terribly exciting. The Boss leaned in with a smirk – Matt parted his lips – but at the last second went to suck a sensitive spot on his neck; a full-body shudder tore through his body, and the Boss sucked again just to see if he would receive the same reaction twice.

Matt shuddered, closing his eyes.

“This the real reason you’re here?” The Boss muttered into his shoulder, followed by a scrape of teeth along his shoulder. “How long have you been thinking about me? Since Temple? The cyber battle? The helicopter crash?” Each point was emphasised with a suck or a bite that coloured his pale skin in a temporary modern art.

“The c-cyber battle was what did it but – _god –_ I saw you on the streets and I wanted … you looked different back then.”

“The things I do for Presidency.” Just when he thought assaults on sensitive parts of his body had ceased, he felt the Boss’ lips linger by his ear. “Went crazy tonight – add a nice touch to the party. You know, since the theme’s purple and all.

The Boss traced Matt’s ear lobe with his tongue before ending with a soft bite and god, nerves shouldn’t be bunched and squeezed like this but the Boss knew all the combinations to play him.

“Purple contacts?” Matt gasped.

“Hot, huh?”

“N-not as much as …” His towel dropped at his feet; he felt the Boss’ hand on his skin, finger sinking between his arse cheeks, the tip barely circling his opening – teasing, waiting.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Oh for – Christ, just – _fuck me already_.”

For some furious reason he couldn’t fathom, like ‘fuck me already’ actually meant ‘we’re done here’, the touches were gone and Matt opened his eyes – frustration mixed with lust mixed with aching need – to see the Boss stepping away.

“What part of that didn’t you – oh.” The Boss took a few strides to the drawers, pulling out lube and condoms. Matt carefully made his way to the bed, uncertainty creeping back in now that the space cleared some of his incoherency. He noticed the Boss start to loosen the tie.

“No, leave—” The Boss stopped. “Leave that on. A-and the jacket. Everything.” It came out barely a whisper.

“Might not survive what we’re about to do,” the Boss shrugged but released the tie and climbed onto the bed, shifting to make himself comfortable, leaning against the headrest.

“Doesn’t matter. It suits you.”

Matt knelt onto the bed and noticed the tightness of the Boss’ trousers; a pang of guilt snapped inside him. _That could be corrected_ , he thought, and his eyes gleamed with the same resolution as when faced with a code that needed cracking. He vaguely heard the Boss say something to that effect but it was cut short when he unzipped his jeans ( _purple underwear too_ ) and carefully pulled out his length, feeling the weight in his hand – a little larger than what he was used to, shorter and less thicker than some of his imaginings. He tugged once, glancing up to see the Boss close his eyes, his chest visibly rising and falling, with just a hint of a smile that was catching. Matt looked down again – the theory and countless visual aid that had been burned and imbedded in his brain all wiped clean when presented with the real thing – but he figured he couldn’t go too wrong by wrapping his lips around the head, tongue swirling around the tip to taste the salty liquid. His eyes flickered back up to check the Boss.

He didn’t expect their eyes to meet; contacts hid dilated pupils but not the heat packed in that one look.

Matt closed his eyes before he bottled it, concentrating on licking up and down his length before he took him in his mouth again. The Boss wasn’t vocal, but he could hear the way his breath shallowed, the occasional hitch in his breath an incentive to keep going.

He felt the Boss’ fingers thread through his hair once more, pushing his head closer. His jaw was – embarrassingly – starting to ache but he complied; a suggestive nudge here, a grip of pleasure there, were all enough to keep his lips around the Boss that little bit longer.

And just when he believed he might be able to do this after all, he felt the Boss push his head away and – _fuck, did I do it wrong_ – head down, he started to push himself away.

“Hey.” The Boss caught his chin between his fingers and thumb, lifting his face.“You did all right. But let’s save it, huh?”

Matt looked up, originally to meet his eyes but was distracted by the unusual sight of the faint flush in his cheeks and down his neck and – maybe it was Matt’s imagination – his arm seemed to quiver ever so slightly as he propped up his own weight. He guided Matt closer and kissed him once, twice, moaning into his mouth as he tasted himself and when they pulled apart – _god, it’s like he’s tasted nothing better_ – Matt automatically leaned back in for more.

Somewhere amongst the kissing, the Boss had manoeuvred them both so that Matt was now the one pressed back onto the bed, and the Boss pulled away, sucking on Matt’s bottom lip until the last second.

He sat up and uncapped the lube. “Turn around, get comfortable.”

It wasn’t until the Boss had coated a generous amount of the clear, viscous liquid onto his fingers that Matt realised he had been staring at the Boss, his mind working in the background as instinct fought with reason.

“You know what, screw that. I wanna see you take me in. See how deep that blush really goes.”

The Boss was on him before he could react, the tie brushing against his chest and sending erratic shivers. Matt parted his legs to accommodate, rough material grazing the soft inside of his thighs. He was grateful regardless of whether or not the Boss made the suggestion out of kindness.

A chill intrusion made its way inside, pushing all concerns aside. He tried not to squirm, closing his eyes and concentrating on his own breathing. It was much too much to watch the Boss watch him, and the mere thought made his face burn.

“Feels good?”

Honestly, Matt didn’t think he could quite categorise it as something that would be able to get him off, but he gave a curt nod anyway.

Maybe the Boss noticed because he then inserted two fingers, adding more friction, drawing out a moan, in and out; Matt’s body arched and moved in time, and he hid his face behind his arm.

“Rather excellent.” He was already breathless.

“ _Rather_?"

One more finger; deeper thrusts that confused his muscles into melting and tightening at the same time. If fingers felt this good, then the Boss inside of him—

“Please,” Matt muttered and fingers drew out of him for the last time to leave him empty. He heard the rustle of a packet and used the time to catch his breath.

One hand was positioned by his shoulders, the other on his thigh, and Matt wrapped his legs loosely around the Boss’ hip as he felt the tip of the Boss brush against sensitive skin. There was no warning; the Boss pushed himself in, inch by careful inch.

“Yeah, that feels _good_ ,” the Boss said, soft and breathy. “Fuck, you’re tight.” And then he started to move.

Everything Matt had ever fantasised about the Boss had not prepared him for his current torture. Sex should have been exactly like the chaos of the Boss himself, all uncut edges and spinning out of control. Reality had the Boss riding him with an easy, almost lazy roll of the hips that built up (if he could even call it a build up) to an even pump. He faltered at times, when the right amount of pressure brushed exactly the right spot, but otherwise the rhythm was consistent. Out of all his contradictions – passionate, yet blasé; no-nonsense, yet comedic – never would it have crossed Matt’s mind to imagine _this_ – this measured intimacy against abrupt hostility. There was no threat – no pain in the way he moved, no unexpected explosions or sudden accelerations and all Matt could do was hold on, first fisting the sheets and when that wasn’t enough, clutching onto the Boss for dear life, his nails marking the leather as he scrambled for a grip that would stop his hands – his _sanity_ – from slipping.

“Lemme hear you,” the Boss said, nosing the side of his neck.

“Can’t you just mo— _”_ The Boss broke off Matt’s complaint with another kiss, and Matt tried to shift to a better position, but it was useless when he was pinned between the arm wrapped around behind his head, the hand underneath his body, and the Boss pressing him down onto the bed.

An undignified whine escaped from the back of his throat.

“That’s more like it.”

The Boss had gone against odds before, running Matt down in a whirl of emotions and lasers. Matt should have been the one to win, he had all the advantages – nearly a decade younger and the battle on his choice of ground, not to mention the gulf between his extensive computer skills and the atrocious lack of computer knowledge he now knew the Boss to possess – yet he had been the one left lagging, and eventually – losing.

And now, once again, he was struggling against the Boss’ pace as every move was exaggerated, each thrust drawn out, and what little stamina and patience he had to begin with were taut to the point of snapping. It was all too much … but he needed more. “Please … just …” Matt dug his heels into the Boss’ back and pushed up.

“You writhing like that—” The Boss pounded harder but the pace remained persistent, unrelentingly slow. Matt opened his eyes to throw a glare that went completely unnoticed and his eyes wandered to the Boss’ chest, a sheen built up from the effort (or restraint?) of keeping the steady beat.

“Why – just – _move faster damn you_!”

The Boss replied with an amused huff and snapped his hips.

“ _Ah!_ ”

Pleasure struck for a brief second, then it was gone. He managed to release one hand long enough to grasp his cock; hard, fast, ragged strokes had him racing to release.

A warm hand wrapped around his own, breaking momentum long enough to rein him back. The Boss started to pump in time with the same anguishing thrusts, threading fingers and massaging his hand – not even having to fight to steal control – leaving Matt empty handed and grasping again for a grip.

What was supposed to be a frustrated growl was close to a desperate whimper as the last of his build up disappeared.

He sobbed. “Why … why wou—”

Matt cried out as the Boss leaned in closer at a new angle – a direct hit that rekindled the pleasure. His body was shaking, made worse when the Boss spoke in his ear.

“No rush.” Hearing the Boss’ cracked voice was enough to fuel the new flame. “Trust me, this is better.”

If his quick jerks before (and all other times he got himself off) was a firework of instant satisfaction that sparked, burst, vanished, then what he felt deep inside was lava simmering, biding its time until it was ready to be unleashed.

_Like when – mid-fight – you stopped running, gun charging, holding out … for the right moment, holding your aim, fingering the trigger … waiting … waiting … and then—_

“F-fuck,” the Boss’ voice shook and he finally lost his grip, driving hard into Matt; the rhythm crashing around them, the Boss trembling above him, _that_ was what Matt needed to fall apart – pleasure erupting and consuming his entire body, an empty cry knocked out of his lungs, the Boss’ hot hand which he grabbed, liquid heat shooting over his fingers as he fired, shuddering and gasping for breath.

The Boss crushed his lips onto Matt’s as they rode it out together, easing off gradually with their descent. Even after their high, they remained still, heartbeats hammering against each other’s chests, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

“I suppose … that was acceptable …”

Matt was rewarded with a warm laugh.

“You punk. See if you’re laughing next time.” Matt’s heart leapt at the thought, though he forced it firmly back down. “Think I ripped your jacket.”

“I’m sure you can afford a new one.”

“Yeah, something that’s not a 90s disgrace.”

Matt couldn’t be bothered to find a witty remark so he lay unmoving under the comforting weight, still clutching onto the Boss, afraid to let go.

With tenderness Matt didn't expect (but at this point he was no longer surprised) the Boss pulled out of him and out of his arms, a shiver running through as cool air hit his skin. The Boss reached to grab a few sheets of tissues for himself and passed the box over, and they both cleaned themselves up in silence, Matt mopping himself up quickly, his earlier high starting to dissipate as uncertainty gnawed its edges. The Boss collapsed beside him, staring up at the ceiling; Matt took the cue to mean he could stay. He rolled onto his stomach, the slow burn from their activity easing to a warm reminder, sleep settling in and making itself comfortable in his loose mind.

“The gun thing,” the Boss started, shooting him a glance. “Is that a kink?”

Matt stared at the softened outline of the Boss’ through sleep-filtered eyes, absolutely no clue as to what he was talking about.

Realisation knocked sleepiness right out of him, and he buried his face into the pillow, releasing a muffled groan.

The bed shifted as the Boss wrapped an arm over his shoulders and he loosely toyed with his hair. He leaned so that his lips brushed the shell of his ear sending goose bumps all over.

“Hey,” he whispered, “you’re not the only one who got off on it.” Another full body shudder – he was beginning to grow concerned about how long it took before overworked nerves shut down. “So, making a fool of yourself, that’s expected, but your plan on spending the rest of your time in your room, living off room service – still up for that?”

Arousal tugged once, lending courage to open his eyes and look straight at the Boss, heart pounding against his chest, with just a hint of a smile that was catching.


	2. Chapter 2

“Kinzie, what the fuck did I just read?”

Kinzie tried not to smirk as she turned to face him. “ _That_ is what the so-called best and brightest of MI6 has in his massive archive of saved fan fiction – on his _work computer_ – and they all star you two.” Her smirk may be under control but she couldn’t stop herself from sounding smug. She watched the Boss carefully, trying to discern his emotions but finding it frustratingly neutral. He probably didn’t understand. “You know fan fiction’s—”

The Boss held up his hand and shook his head. “I know what it is, you can’t _not_ when you’re being marketed across the world.” In fact, Pierce had spent one car ride going into great detail about one particular epic, tear-jerking, bromance fic where the Boss was heavily wounded and dying tragically in his arms, but his final wish as his soul was on the brink of being stolen away by death himself was that Pierce stepped in as the boss of the Saints and became President of the United States.

For the sake of humanity.

_For him._

He still wasn’t sure if it was fan fiction Pierce had read, or fan fiction he had invented in his head one bored afternoon.

“So you decided to share this with me _why_?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see Matt squirm whenever you talked to him on our next mission together. Also, Asha said the field agents were getting tired of him bossing everyone around and they decided this would be the least traumatic way to shut him up.”

“You didn’t think _I_ would be traumatised by this?”

“Please, you practically re-enacted a live-action porn scene and we all hear you go on about it—”

“I don’t ‘go on’ about—”

“—and it’s not like you hide what you have in your desktop, it’s literally one of two uses you have for it.”

The Boss changed the subject. “How did you get hold of this? Wait, don’t—” 

“For the sake of both governments, it’s in everyone’s best interest that we continue to attack each other’s firewalls so that if either of us find a breach, we can fix it before real enemy hackers attack us. If you think about it, we actually did them a favour.”

“Yeah, stupid question, I get it.”

Kinzie reached to take the tablet out of his hands before some disaster happened – knowing him, it would end up as a coaster or _god forbid, a_ _bookmark_ like that one time she had entrusted her own, personally modified tablet into his barbaric hands when she tried to teach him about e-books.

“You know what, I’m gonna hang onto this,” he said, and she went still, unable to take her eyes off the way he waved the tablet around with a force she was certain would either make it snap or send it flying. “You’re always going on about how I need to keep up with technology. No better way than learning through practice.”

“Already done that, remember? You accidentally set off a missile because you said – and this is a direct quote – ‘I thought I was playing battleships with Pierce’.”

He chuckled at the memory. “Oh yeah, good times.” He caught her look and quickly turned it into a cough. “Yeah, so that won’t happen. I’ll even have someone supervise. Someone _responsible_ ,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Keith.”

“O … kay …” she cast a worried glance at the tablet. It was one the office shared and not her own, but she still treated it like it was a precious cousin of one of her babies. “Let me just delete the folder.”

He whipped the tablet out of reach. “That can be the first thing I do, learning how to delete this … stupid, dumbass folder.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He gave her a nod, a smile, _and_ a thumbs up. 

That did nothing to reassure her, but she could already feel a headache coming on from trying to argue with him and she still had a press conference to deal with later. “… Fine. But if I find it cracked or smashed or between paper—”

The boss was already halfway out of the door, waving to her casually as he disappeared.

 

*

 

“Keith, I’m gonna need you to print me all that’s on here.”

“Is this for the meeting this afternoon?”

“There’s a meeting? Doesn’t matter – strictly confidential. A copy of everything to me and then deleted off this thing when you’re done. You don’t need me to tell you not to read anything.”

“I know what confidential means.”

“Great. Soon as you can. You know what, make it a top priority, I’ll need it for the meeting this afternoon.”


End file.
